Killer Queen: A Painted Faces Novel (11 page)

I desperately didn’t want Fred to find out.

I knew my choice to be with Dorotea was a bad one,
because even as I fucked her, I still couldn’t stop thinking of Fred, comparing
the two women. I’d wanted it to be Fred’s soft body beneath mine last night,
rather than Dorotea’s.

I put the kettle on to make some tea, and the noise
of it caused her to stir. She sat up on the couch, rubbing at her eyes. Her
pert breasts bounced with the movement. It was a revelation how little the
sight of those breasts did for me.

I vaguely thought I must be broken, and it was all
Fred’s fault.

“Good morning, Nicholas,” Dorotea purred, and came
toward me. She wrapped her arms around my middle and began planting kisses
along my neck.

“Morning, darling. I hope you slept well,” I said to
her.

I was about to offer her a cup of tea when she
gasped, looking at the clock. “I’m late. I have an appointment in an hour. I
have to go.”

She sounded disappointed. I, on the other hand, was
relieved. I didn’t want to have to entertain her for the morning. She quickly
threw on her clothes, and I walked her to the door. She kissed me goodbye and I
winced, because at the same moment the door to the next apartment opened, and
Fred stepped out. I pulled away from Dorotea before Fred could see the kiss.
Still, it was pretty obvious what had gone on between us the night before.

Even though I wished she hadn’t chosen this moment
to leave her place, my eyes still drank her in. Her hair was tied up in a messy
bundle, and she wasn’t wearing a scrap of makeup. It was strange to admit that
she’d never looked more appealing. She was carrying a delicious-looking cake in
a container, and her eyes met mine in the narrow hallway.

When she spotted Dorotea, her gaze narrowed
slightly, but she quickly wiped her expression clean before putting on a smile
and joking, “My, my, am I witnessing the walk of shame right now? This is a
classy neighbourhood, I'll have you know. You're lowering the tone.”

Despite the awkward situation, I smiled at her
humour. I found it incredibly endearing how she used it to diffuse
uncomfortable situations.

 “Oh, my word, you gave me a fright, so noisy,” said
Dorotea, because Fred was being purposely loud, and the Italian beauty clearly
had a hangover. I hadn’t drunk much, so I was feeling well enough.

When I leaned my hand against the wall and smiled at
Fred, I saw her eyes wander to my naked chest before quickly looking away. I
felt like running my palm seductively down my abs just to torture her.

“Sorry, my bad,” she apologised to Dorotea, still
not lowering her voice. I smirked. She wasn’t sorry at all. Then she brought
her attention back to me. “I take it the champagne went down a treat.”

 She was referring to the bottle of bubbly I’d
opened just before she left the club yesterday. I was liking her playful tone,
but I wished I’d stopped to think before I replied, “It's not the only thing
that went down last night.”

Why did I say that? That was
not
what I
should have said. Still, I had to admit it was a very snappy comeback.

“You cheeky little devil,” Dorotea exclaimed while
pointing a finger at me. “You never returned the favour — I'll be collecting on
that.”

I couldn’t stop looking at Fred, trying to figure
out what she might be thinking. Had I completely fucked up? Or would she give
me another shot? Not that she’d been giving me much of a shot to begin with.

I needed to make this right. I needed to make her
understand that she was special and that Dorotea was just a roll in the hay, so
I stared at her intensely as I apologised to Dorotea, hoping she got my
meaning, “My apologies, but I only visit the lady garden under very special
circumstances.”

I willed her to translate from my statement that if
she were to give me the opportunity, I would happily visit hers.

“That's not very fair,” said Dorotea, with a little
frown I’m sure she thought was cute.

“Sorry, those are the rules,” I replied. “Where are
you off to, Fred?”

“Visiting the parentals for Sunday lunch,” she told
me as she held up the cake she had with her. I wondered what her parents were
like and felt a strange yearning to spend the day with her. I wanted to go for
Sunday lunch with Fred at her parents’ house. How odd.

“You lucky sod, I could kill for a nice roast. It's
the best cure for a hangover.”

I said this even though I didn’t have a hangover, in
the hopes that she might ask me along. My hopes were dashed when she said
flatly, “Sadly, you're not invited. See ya later, alligator.”

And then she was gone, leaving me alone with
Dorotea. We said our goodbyes, and then she left, too. For the next few hours I
was aimless. I did a little bit of arranging in my apartment, drank some tea,
and practiced a couple of songs for the coming week’s gigs.

That evening there was a knock on my door. It was
Sean, the drummer from the house band at the club, and Harry, Fred’s friend.
They told me they’d gotten some pizza and were wondering if I’d like to join
them. I enthusiastically told them I would, but when I arrived in Fred and
Nora’s apartment, Fred was disappointingly absent. She must have still been at
her parents’. I couldn’t help but ask Nora where she was.

“Fred around, Nora darling?” I questioned cheerily.

Nora swept her hair over her shoulder and took a
seat across from me. “She’s at her parents’ place. She always goes on Sunday.
It’s their little tradition.”

I smiled. “That’s nice. I’d love to meet her parents
someday.”

She raised a brow and narrowed her eyes at me. “Uh,
why?”

“Because she’s my friend. I’m very fond of Fred.”

“Isn’t she hilarious?” Harry put in. “The first time
I met her, I don’t think I ever laughed so much in my life.”

“She is funny,” said Nora. “But it’s mostly all
sarcasm, and they do say that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.”

I frowned at her. These two girls were supposed to
be best friends, and yet here was Nora putting Fred down. I didn’t like it, but
I could tell it hadn’t been meant maliciously. I was learning that Nora was one
of those unintentionally bitchy people. She had no idea how to filter out the
bitch.

We ate and chatted for a while, and my heart leapt
just the tiniest bit when the door opened and Fred walked in. She glanced at us
she hung up her coat and smirked. “Well, well, well, look at you all shooting
the shit. What do you think this is, the set of
Friends
?”

“Harry and Sean decided to come over and surprise us
with a pizza,” said Nora. “Since you were out, they knocked next door and asked
Nicholas if he'd like to join us instead.”

Fred’s eyes brightened as they landed on me, and I
really shouldn’t have been so elated by that fact. I felt juvenile to admit it,
but I had a crush.

“Viv, you cow. Would you take my grave as quick?”
she teased.

 I gave her my most dazzling smile. “Sorry, Fred,
but the pizza was delicious. I couldn't resist.” I paused and dropped my voice
low, making sure my double meaning couldn’t be missed. “I'm sure I can figure
out a way to pay you back.”

“Be careful there, Viv, or you'll end up bankrupt.
You already owe Dorotea a visit to her lady garden,” she deadpanned, and with
that statement alone my crush expanded by a fraction. She was almost as brazen
as I was sometimes.

I tried to hold in my laughter and kept on staring
at her, all cool and collected. She was a cheeky little madam, and I wanted to
spank her for it.

 “Who's Dorotea?” said Sean. “And what's all this
about a lady garden?”

 “A gentleman never kisses and tells,” I said, and
gave him a wink.

“It's a good thing you're not a gentleman, then,”
Fred added as she sat down beside me. “And I'm sure you did a good deal more
than kissing, you trollop.” She turned to address the room. “Dorotea is a sassy
Italian hairdresser Nicholas and I met in the park yesterday. She
showed
up at the club last night, and Nicholas took it upon himself to
show
her
a memorable evening.”

I couldn’t be sure, but I thought she might be a
touch pissed off with me, and this was her funny way of getting me back.
Something inside me growled in appreciation that she was jealous.

 “I caught the two of them saying their farewells
this morning. Nicholas mentioned that Dorotea went down on him, and she seemed
less than impressed that he didn't return the favour.”

She was goading me, and one day very soon I was
going to punish her so very badly for it. I was having visions of corrupting
every inch of her hot little body.

“Oh, this is juicy. Come on, give us the details,
Nicholas.” Harry grinned.

I brought my eyes to Fred and tried to communicate
with her that she wasn’t going to get away with this. She was trying to
embarrass me. I wasn’t really capable of embarrassment at this stage in my
life, but I was certainly uncomfortable, and I didn’t want her to be annoyed
with me. I wanted her to like me again. I missed the fond way in which she had
started to look at me. Finally, I gave in and told them all about Dorotea. I
also wanted to outdo Fred in the explicit details department.

“She was very – how do I put it? Enthusiastic.
Although I could have done without all of the noises. She was a moaner in the
true sense of the word. I'm surprised you didn't hear her through the walls.
Couldn't shut her up. And get this, she had no hair down below whatsoever. I
wasn't complaining, but it kind of threw me for six when I saw it. Most women
have a landing strip at the bare minimum. She was like a porn star.”

Fred’s body grew rigid, and she was satisfyingly
silent. That would teach her to try and embarrass me in front of her friends.

Harry piped in immediately, “Oh, my God, I think you
just traumatised me for life. As a gay man, I have to admit I'm quite squeamish
when it comes to women and their downstairs business.”

“That's awful, Harry. It's just a vagina — why would
it make you squeamish?” said Nora, her mouth pursed in annoyance.

“It's the unknown. The unknown can be frightening to
a delicate flower such as myself,” Harry replied, and I smirked.

Then I almost choked on my laughter when Fred
declared, “Delicate, my arse. You can suck a dick, but you can't take the idea
of a hairless vagina.”

 “Ugh, please don't tell me you've got one as well,”
Harry whined, and what followed was a rather comical conversation about
feminine personal grooming. I took advantage of the topic when I leaned in
close to Fred, ran my thumb in circles over her elbow, and murmured quietly,
“Is it wrong that I'm really enjoying the turn this conversation has taken? I
think vagina is one of my favourite words. I bet you have a really pretty one,
Freda, like a flower.”

What I said had the desired effect when she
swallowed and blushed. But then she moved away and muttered in reply, “You're a
pervert. And if you think vaginas look like flowers, you must have a very
unique way of seeing them. What do you do, close one eye and squint?”

She shivered a little, so despite what she’d said, I
knew I’d gotten to her. My words had turned her on. This gave me the confidence
to continue, “If I had you in my bed, I definitely wouldn't be closing my
eyes.”

She rubbed at her arm and looked away, and all of a
sudden she had withdrawn into herself. “Nicholas...you have to stop....” Her
tone was desperate, her voice uneven, and that was the moment I knew for
certain that she was just as attracted to me as I was to her, but that it
frightened her. I didn’t want her to be frightened. I wanted her to embrace
what was burning between us with the fire I knew she possessed inside. I placed
my hand on her thigh and softly rubbed, my voice a tender caress as I said,
“You should call me Nicholas more often. It kind of makes me hard.”

“Please shut up now,” she whispered desperately. I
didn’t shut up. The way her body was responding to me had spurred me on.

“When I pinched you – last night – what did you
feel?” I asked with a certain urgency.

“Nothing,” she said tightly. Her friends were
preoccupied with their animated conversation, so I took the opportunity to run
my hand farther up her jean-clad thigh before venturing between her legs for a
brief moment. A tiny whimper escaped her when I continued to push, “You felt
nothing here?”

She became defensive then. “Seriously, Nicholas,
back off, or I'll punch you.”

I immediately stopped touching her, but then brought
my mouth to her ear and whispered, “One final thing. When I was inside Dorotea
last night, I closed my eyes and pretended it was you.”

Not a second later, her hand was flying through the
air and smacking me hard across the face. I held onto my jaw, shocked for a
moment, before laughter overtook me. Her passionate response was not the
dampener it could have been. I
liked
that she’d slapped me. It told me
that she was not indifferent. And yeah, I’d probably deserved it for such a
dazzling display of crassness.